


caleidoscopio

by snowborn



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Fluff, Gen, M/M, brief mentions of seijoh vbc, but mostly happy bc my boys deserve to be happy!!!!, tiny bit of angst if you squint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-27
Updated: 2021-01-27
Packaged: 2021-03-12 22:06:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29017896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snowborn/pseuds/snowborn
Summary: But when Tooru blinks, it’s like looking into a kaleidoscope. All of the versions of Iwa-chan he knew and all of the ones that have flowered in his absence come together in the beautiful, glittering amalgam that is his forever ace.
Relationships: Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru
Comments: 14
Kudos: 55





	caleidoscopio

**Author's Note:**

> HIIIIIII so this is my first hq fic and it definitely was not inspired by the birria i ate the other day with my friends! i wrote this in like 4 hours and then edited the hell out of it, so i hope you enjoy my descent into iwaoi hell <3 
> 
> writing playlist:  
> -malibu by kim petras  
> -good days by sza  
> -cherry by rina sawayama  
> -midnight sky by miley cyrus  
> -everything he needs by carly rae jepsen  
> -tipsy by chloe x halle

\--

The first time Tooru hops off the plane at LAX, he expects to feel changed. With only a couple years of traveling under his belt he hasn’t quite gotten over the infinite promise of a new city, and this place is _special_ \-- this place is Iwa-chan’s home away from home. 

It feels a little dumb now, but he thought it’d feel more like a movie montage -- he’d get off the plane and saunter through the airport in slow motion, hair perfectly coiffed despite being sleep-deprived and in transit for over sixteen hours, and Iwa-chan would gawk at him like he couldn’t believe that Tooru could look so good coming out of a plane, and Tooru would gaze lovingly out the window of a taxi at Los Angeles in all her glory. But when he finally lands, vaguely sticky and smelling of recycled air, he realizes he’s not very impressed by the supposed magnificence of Hollywood or the smoky, sprawling landscape of the city. 

As it turns out, all he feels is a bit dry.

(The arid midsummer heat of Los Angeles is a welcome change from the wet winter gloom of Buenos Aires, and he makes a mental note to double up on both sunscreen and moisturizer to combat the lack of humidity in the air. He refuses to return to Argentina a desiccated husk of a man!

...Though he’d still be sexy regardless.)

_It doesn’t feel at all like a party in the USA_ , he snickers to himself. It’s the kind of thought Makki and Mattsun would boo at him for. It’s the kind of thought Iwa-chan would swat him on the head for. That incessant longing for home in his chest grows, so he suppresses it.

He’s gotten kind of good at doing that, over the years.

\--

When Tooru leaves the terminal his eyes scan the airport for a head of spiky hair. He finds Iwa-chan near the baggage carousel, conversing with an elderly woman whose wide smile and crows feet are visible even from here. He’s holding a cardboard sign with a crude drawing of a fish on it. 

Shitty sketch aside, the sight of Iwa-chan knocks the breath out of Tooru. California looks _so_ good on him.

Iwa-chan’s tan is much deeper now than it was the last time Tooru saw him in person, accentuating the cut of his muscles. With his board shorts and his sleeveless tank, Iwa-chan looks every bit the stereotypical surfer, perfectly at home on a California beach. 

Tooru can tell the exact moment when Iwa-chan spots him because he politely excuses himself, and then his face splits into a star-bright smile that makes Tooru feel warm from the inside out.

Iwa-chan opens his arms, and Tooru falls into them.

“I can never escape this damn fish,” Tooru laugh-sobs into his shoulder. Iwa-chan’s arms tighten around him before he pulls back to run his eyes over Tooru, who feels like he’s been through a blender.

“Never,” Iwa-chan agrees sagely, handing him the sign in exchange for both of his bags. Tooru chokes on his spit when Iwa-chan slings the duffle over his shoulder, biceps bulging almost obscenely. Then Tooru’s eyes zero in on the tiny studs in Iwa-chan’s ears. Who the _hell_ is this _man,_ and what has he done with Iwa-chan?! Not that Tooru’s complaining. “I didn’t want to accidentally pick up the wrong person.”

“How many other Oikawas do you know?!” 

“Oh, relax. You know you’re the only one,” Iwa-chan chuckles, nudging Tooru with his (big, beefy) arm as they head out to the parking lot. “I just thought it’d be a cute way to commemorate your first trip to California.”

There are a million things Tooru wants to say -- _I love you,_ for one. But they’ve been apart for some time now, and this thing between them is so new, fragile like the first blossoms of spring. He stops himself from blurting out the words that so desperately want to be said and swallows them painfully, muttering, “Well, I can think of cuter ways.”

Iwa-chan’s answering laugh reminds Tooru of home.

\--

Driving south on the 405 at rush hour seems like a culmination of all the worst things that could possibly happen at one time, but Iwa-chan’s not too upset, so neither is Tooru. The bumper-to-bumper traffic allows them to catch up on everything they couldn’t fit into their daily Facetime calls; they scroll through the Seijoh group chat to cackle at all of the things they’re missing, like Makki and Mattsun showing up at practice to terrorize their juniors, and Kunimi doodling on Kindaichi’s face while he’s sleeping, and Kyoutani and Yahaba _finally_ getting together.

It’s a bittersweet reminder that the world keeps on turning.

(“Man, Kyoutani and Yahaba, huh?” Iwa-chan shakes his head, smiling. “Who could’ve seen that one coming?”

Tooru stares at him, the painfully oblivious love of his life. “Anyone with _eyes_ could have called that, Iwa-chan.”

Iwa-chan reaches over to ruffle Tooru’s admittedly greasy hair, glancing at him out of his periphery. “Guess I’m just blind then, huh, Shittykawa?”)

Things quiet down as they gradually make their way out of traffic. In this rare stretch of silence, Tooru’s eyes are drawn to Iwa-chan, backlit by the blazing California sun. Tooru’s tiny little phone screen could never do him justice.

It’s surreal to be here, navigating an age-old friendship in an unfamiliar place. For all that Tooru fancies himself a leader, he’s clearly out of his element here. He has no choice but to follow Iwa-chan, this time.

The ache in Tooru’s chest seems to throb even more painfully when he looks at Iwa-chan too closely, as if to remind him that he’s not fooling anybody. Sometimes he sees Hajime, bug-catcher extraordinaire, with his arms and legs covered in scrapes and band-aids; other times he sees Iwaizumi (a short-lived phase), budding ace of Kitaiichi, his voice of reason.

This Iwa-chan in front of him is uncharted territory -- he wears cooler jackets, uses American slang, has _earrings_! But when Tooru blinks, it’s like looking into a kaleidoscope. All of the versions of Iwa-chan he knew and all of the ones that have flowered in his absence come together in the beautiful, glittering amalgam that is his forever ace. Tooru’s maybe a little bit in love.

The years between them smudge together -- catching fireflies together on soupy summer nights and passing out from exhaustion in the grass; spending endless days on the couch watching movies and volleyball games and dreaming of a life bigger than Miyagi; buying Gari Gari ice pops from the konbini down the street after practice; learning how to be gentle in the midst of pain; enjoying every victory and stewing in every loss, together -- and he is reminded of the unbreakable trust between them, forged like iron, tested time and again only to come out stronger. 

Iwa-chan’s different now; of course he is. But so is Tooru. 

So instead of shying away and succumbing to the fear of never getting to know Iwa-chan in his maturity, Tooru does what he does best --

He squares his shoulders and faces the challenge head-on.

\--

After they arrive at Iwa-chan’s apartment, they tangle together in his bed for a nap before an unofficial tour of the UC Irvine campus. Iwa-chan’s eyes sparkle when he points out this building and that statue, more animated than Tooru’s ever seen him, and he tells Tooru about his all-nighters in the library and the house parties he goes to with his friends. It’s times like these when Tooru wonders fleetingly if there’s something he missed out on, but then Iwa-chan levels him with that steady gaze of his, rock-solid, and Tooru feels pulled apart and put together all at once. 

There’s really not much to do in Irvine, so the rest of their days are spent watching movies in Iwa-chan’s room and going to the beach. Occasionally they’ll grab dinner with Iwa-chan’s roommate Kevin. By the time Tooru goes back to Argentina he’ll be sporting a healthy tan of his own.

Tooru has never felt happier, but the days are slipping through his fingers like sand. He bites back the panic, recalls his setter forms, lets his hands do all the talking instead.

Iwa-chan mirrors the sentiment. He gets clingier, and his touch lingers on Tooru’s skin like a brand. They wake up on Friday morning, reluctant to leave the bed, but Iwa-chan says he has a surprise for Tooru -- 

So on Tooru’s last full day in California, they drive down the I-5 to spend the day in San Diego. 

“It’s like Irvine, but better,” Iwa-chan had promised. 

He’s not wrong. Compared to Irvine, San Diego is much more relaxed. The itinerary is very loose because Iwa-chan knows that Tooru likes to take his time and explore. They grab seafood at the harbor for a light lunch and do some walking along the pier, ooh-ing and aah-ing at the boats bobbing in the breeze. When they get tired, they lay down in the short grass near the water to soak up some sun. Iwa-chan’s hand is warm in his, and he never wants to let go.

Hours later they make it to a hole-in-the-wall Mexican food shop that apparently boasts the best tacos in all of Southern California, and Tooru can’t contest that upon the first bite of his _quesabirria_. 

“This is amazing!” Tooru breathes, gazing at his taco like it hung the moon. “I don’t think I’ve ever had something so delicious in my life!”

“It slaps, right?” Iwa-chan looks proud at getting to use some new slang around Tooru, not unlike the first time he’d shown Tooru a picture of that damn fish. “I knew you’d like it.”

Tooru smiles through another messy bite of his taco, then abruptly freezes as Iwa-chan leans forward. Eyes fixated on Tooru’s lips, he swipes gently at the corner of Tooru’s mouth with the pad of his thumb. 

“You had some _consome_ right there,” Iwa-chan says quietly, slipping into a shy Spanish accent. The air between them is heavy. Tooru feels like he’s been struck by lightning. 

_This is how landing in Los Angeles should have felt_ , his mind whirs like a computer going into overdrive, _it should have felt like something enormous blooming in my chest, like feeling small in a big big world, like staring into the endless expanse of the ocean_. 

_Like this_. 

\--

It takes them fifteen minutes to get to the beach, and Iwa-chan makes a show out of parallel-parking next to the curb. It’s flawless, and, okay, maybe Tooru’s a little impressed.

“You think you’re _so_ cool, huh?” Tooru snorts, and the look Iwa-chan sends his way has him giggling. Still, as Iwa-chan grabs the worn blanket from the backseat, Tooru finds himself cataloging this new fact about Iwa-chan alongside the decades of information he’s already absorbed. Tooru thinks he wouldn’t mind getting to do this for the rest of his life.

They pick their way down the dirt path, side-stepping teenagers with watercolor paints and families with tiny dogs, until they find a perfect spot right at the edge of the bluff. Iwa-chan shakes out the blanket and takes a seat, patting the space next to him. Tooru follows. 

“This place is called Sunset Cliffs.” Iwa-chan squints at the horizon. “It’s the best place to watch the sunset in San Diego, apparently.” Their legs dangle off the cliff, and Tooru’s heart thumps in his ribcage. It’s a pretty crowded spot at sunset, Tooru learns, and for good reason. 

Argentina is landlocked, and the beaches in Rio were breathtaking, but this is something else entirely. From here they watch reverently as the sun sinks into the horizon, edges blurring into the sky. In the distance he spies a lone boat, shadowed against a backdrop of bright oranges and dark reds. The rolling ocean stretches to infinity on all sides, glittering in the waning light, and Iwa-chan sits right beside him, golden. Something soft loosens in Tooru’s chest. 

“So, what do you think?” Iwa-chan says tentatively, and Tooru turns to him like a sunflower bending to the sun. 

“I’m thinking I really like the view,” Tooru says cheekily, and he feels a warm palm slide into his cold one before Iwa-chan’s leaning into his space,

ever so slowly,

until their lips 

meet.

It’s not the first time they’ve kissed and it definitely won’t be the last, if Tooru has anything to say about it, but one look at Iwa-chan’s face dispels Tooru’s worries like the ebbing waves at dusk.

Lurking in the distant recesses of Tooru’s mind is the knowledge that there are places where he falls short and places where he isn’t enough, but that place is not here. 

Never with Iwa-chan.

Because in this unfamiliar city, entwined with his forever love, there is nothing else in the world that matters to Tooru but the devotion in Iwa-chan’s eyes, hazy green in the dying glow of the California sunset.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> if i sound biased toward san diego it's bc i definitely am <3 and this wasn't so much a love letter to san diego as it was a love letter to quesabirria. 
> 
> catch me on twitter @babyseijoh and let me know if u enjoyed it or not! i'm always happy to talk! ^^


End file.
